This Freedom Is Satire

Sweet Thief of Nectar

Mid conversation, the thought of you comes back to haunt me

My best friend, oh those sapphire eyes

I swore eyes that pure had to allude to her soul

Sweet thief of nectar–

They were supposed to be a window, they were supposed to let me know

My best friend, oh those sapphire eyes

Her betrayal tainted mine a dark gray

She stole my honey–

No longer a window, now they're more of a prison cell, the color gray

Locked up with her betrayal, I stand in darkness

She stole my honey, now I can’t stick to those I love

Those who are devoted to me, who willingly offer amity

Blinded by heartbreak I stand in darkness

Oh, it's so dark in here–

How do I stop drowning in her treacherous seas?

Those who are devoted to me, don’t try and get me out

She has blurred my vision, her deception is engraved in me

Why am I still devoted to her treacherous seas?

I can swim, I can see– Can I see past her?

Could I take a chance on sapphire again?

Her deception remains engraved in me, as I look at you

Reignite my pigment, pollute my soul

Could I take a chance on sapphire, on you?

I look through your windows, catching a glimpse of grey specks

Have you been locked up? Has the sweet thief of nectar stolen from you too?

Pollute my soul and I’ll feed you royal jelly

I’ll make you my Queen B if you promise not to steal from me.

18

Swaying away, stepping on foots

Embarrassing movements

That broke hell loose.

“Drink to remember

Not to forget.”

Sounds and beats that played

As the world spun in my bed.

My head consistent with its melody,

The sound of danger, an infinite crescendo.

Constellations form with every blink

Building a universe that enables him to say:

“You want this.”

Waking up to a sunlit day,

In and out of consciousness

Hell has unleashed again.

The pounding refuses to dissipate

Anticipating their whispers 

I look back at yesterday,

What words did I speak?

Did my two left feet guide me?

Into the arms of a stranger,

One I know too well?

For a moment peace asphyxiates me,

Fogs my brain with pure bliss. 

Minutes of relief are cut short by flashbacks 

Of my limp body being devoured by a faceless enemy.

Static fills my vision and

Internalized blame dictates my actions

A drink wavers in my hand as I finally gather the courage

To stare at myself:

“To remember?

Rather now just forget.”

Comfortably Numb

I Guess That’s Why They Call It The Blues

That 2800 km and some decimals stand in between us

That I don’t mind, that I love being in the dark,

that I allow myself to believe that’s where I belong

I willingly let you have authority over me

“I will forever be devoted to you”

No regret, to the exception of whenever I relax in my seat

and write a poem–

a mirage of you playing in my head.

My favorite song on a loop,

I’m starting to hate it.

Words and your image are asking to be released

Through my keyboard. Words digging like swords,

I bleed out.

Elton in my eardrum, loud thumps making me sick

“Don’t wish away, don't look at it like it’s forever”

Skip, shuffle, next.

Tom Petty, Stevie

Please, Stop Draggin' My Heart Around.

Why is it that no love song can encapsulate us?

Paul, Riri, Ye– maybe there are

FourFiveSeconds 'til I'm okay?

Will you sing to me until then?

Until I grow to love:

The drunken texts

The “i need you” when you want me

And the “i can’t live her”–

with the awful grammar  I can’t stand.

The “take my pieces”,

No begging.

Just orders, commands

From the ruler of my swollen,

Most important muscle.

Has Anyone Ever Written Anything For You?

Stevie, Tee Dee, please

You know I'm the one writing

How could awful grammar write something,

For someone disposable, someone

In his use and throw-away pile.

I Guess That’s Why They Call It The Blues.

Please, Stop Draggin’ My Heart Around.

FourFiveSeconds.

Has Anyone Ever Written Anything For You?

Comfortably Numb

Pink Floyd, that’s where I’m at.

You get me, in a way he never will.

THIS FREEDOM IS SATIRE

To my old life that seems to have been torn apart and savored by a pack of starving wolves. I bet it’s salty. They relish the bitter acquaintances I’ve made and the countless battles won with bitten fingernails. I walk down fifth– side note, that is something I never thought I would say. Only an impostor living in this hellhole of a city would say that. But I walk, the air feels good on my skin. I look back on the days when I did not have to cover half of my face because of humanity and its flaws, “just a pandemic” you know? I keep walking until my legs start dismissing my brain. I enter the red-lettered signed store with the annoying obnoxiously loud checkout lady. I can’t remember why I am here. I look around the aisles lazily, some chocolate could be nice, perhaps wrapped in bunny printed foil. My legs go numb at aisle 4, I think I saw her. My flesh and blood, laying six feet under. I stick around like some stalker, I stare. She is a couple of inches smaller than me and I can almost feel her embrace. Raisin hands tuck expired candy in my back pocket, she then taps my back three times. She looks up at me, it’s not her. My legs regain consciousness and are now urging me to run, I try to convince my brain to catch up as I head for the exit. “Sorry, help is on the way” A bell-like sound rings in my ears as I try to catch my breath. Their ghosts are haunting me. My ancestors, all the versions of myself I’ve sent into exile, relationships I have murdered, a family whom I have buried alive. This plastic-like barrier on my face suffocates me, they’re all collectively pulling it tighter. My head pounds, I might’ve let my brain back at aisle 5 on the way out. I strip it off my face, I rip some of my skin in the process of trying to unmask this person I have become. Their voices get louder and their faces start merging with other people’s as I stumble across the streets of what should have been my safe haven. Breathing like a maniac, I try to get back. To my life, the one I have full ownership of now, at least that’s what they advertised. I run to a shoebox I am meant to call home, ignoring their screams and the way they scratch my arms as they reach for me in anguish. I try and dial the number of the omnipotent being responsible for this. 

“Where can I get a refund? Is my thirty-day trial over?” 

I make a mental note to get microwavable noodles somewhere else. “Guess I’ll starve tonight.”